


sweeter than heaven (hotter than hell)

by harrily



Series: Atrocitas Series [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Asylum, Demonic Possession, Demons, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Historical Inaccuracy, Horror, Investigations, M/M, Mentions of Rape, Older Harry, Paranormal, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Religious Conflict, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Trigger warnings:, Underage Louis, ahs au, i mean it's inspired, i suggest you don't read this, i'll add more as the story goes on - Freeform, if you have ever had to be committed into one, kind of, much of it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-18
Updated: 2015-05-31
Packaged: 2018-03-07 04:18:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3160943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harrily/pseuds/harrily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>❝God is cruel. Sometimes he makes you live.❞</p>
<p>  Two investigators break into Whittingham Asylum, only to unravel one of the most doomed love stories from the 1920’s. The story of Harry and Louis, and how a troubled teenager managed to fall in love with the most innocent boy in the village.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 2014

**Author's Note:**

> hello everyone!
> 
> i began writing this story at the beginning of last year, and i have already finished it on my account on wattpad, so i decided to post it here as well and see what you think of it! 
> 
> the story is going to be /quite/ confusing; some parts are not going to make sense at first, and since it is going to be a series, facts and phrases are going to be repeated in order for the stories to have the plot i want them to 
> 
> also: this story touches on a lot of sensitive subjects, such as asylums, rape/noncon, religion and disorders (since harry is epileptic), so i suggest that you don't read this if it triggers you in any way :3 
> 
> anyway then, enjoy this twisted story that i got inspired to write!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Shall I tell you the whole story, boys?”

“We’d better get inside before I start regretting this.” Zayn mutters under his breath, clutching his folder against his tie as the cold, freezing, January air hits his face like a slap in the face; he licks his lips once, twice, three times until they’re wet enough, a nasty habit of his that Liam has told him countless of times to quit. Speaking of Liam, he has already walked to the front entrance of the building, trying to open it, but its huge weight is making it impossible. “Maybe ‘s just a sign, yeah? We don’t – don’t have to go there, y’know that.” Zayn murmurs, walking closer to Liam, “I mean, I’d for sure be sad, but.” He’s cut off when Liam gives him ‘the look’, silently telling him to stop talking for his own good. 

 

“We’ve done more dangerous things than this, Malik.” Liam tells him, trying to keep it professional by calling him by his middle name, which irritates Zayn most of the times – maybe that’s why he does it. Liam always has this air around him that makes him completely unapproachable and Zayn swears he can count on his fingers the times this man gave him a genuine, warm smile. Okay, maybe he’ll just use his thumb for that. Point is, Zayn is shit – scared right now, and the less he needs is a cold – hearted Liam Payne to urge him to get inside in this haunted building. “If you’re going to be such a pussy, I may as well lead the way.” Payne bluntly announces, pushing the entrance open, a loud, screeching sound echoing around them, which makes Zayn’s skin crawl under the black suit he’s currently wearing. 

 

The first thing Zayn notices about Whittingham Asylum is that it is completely dilapidated; the brown paint has washed off, revealing the red and black bricks that still hold this building on its feet. The smell of abandon and dirt fills his nostrils, and his nose scrunches up, putting a hand in front of it. It makes him sick. “I really don’t want to be here.” He admits, but nevertheless follows Liam, who’s already trying to open the door of the appalling, abandoned asylum. “Whose idea was it to investigate this thing anyway?” 

 

“Malik, I’d really enjoy it if you kept being silent, like you normally do, but I guess that’s not the day today.” The agent murmurs under his breath, adjusting his tie before opening the wooden door, standing on the side and motioning to Zayn to get inside. Frankly, Zayn doesn’t hesitate this time. 

 

The inside is as haunting as the outside; it looks like a murder house, a place from where you’ll never get out. And Zayn does not think that he would like to die in a place like this, with a cold – hearted man like Liam. “Just imagine how this would look like 80 years ago…” Zayn murmurs, gazing at the old windows. He imagines it would be a very nice place to live in, especially for people with mental illnesses. 

 

“Eh, don’t be so fascinated.” Liam warns him, always ready to ruin the mood. “Patients were not really having fun ‘ere. I know for a fact that this was hell on earth back in its first years.” He says, showing him his file which is filled with papers: numbers, years, signed documents and documents that have been forgotten for decades. “What’s all this stuff?” Zayn asks. 

 

“Everything you forgot to bring.” Payne answers, “Since I am the most responsible one of the two of us.” You know, sometimes, Zayn wishes Liam could be a little more understanding; he wishes he could just have a normal conversation with him without feeling inferior to him, because he knows for sure that Liam is more experienced than him and does a better job than him. After all, Zayn is a coward. A coward that will never amount to anything. “Look at this.” Liam suddenly speaks, showing Zayn an empty corridor on the left, after walking on a couple of old mattresses that smell like rotten rat. “I doubt any of those patients had a nice time here.” 

 

“Oh, but some of them did.” And that’s when Zayn really thinks that his heart has stopped beating, when the voice of an old woman comes from behind. He turns around slowly, his hand unintentionally catching Liam’s buff arm and holding it for support. The women mustn’t be more than 80, with long, grey hair and wearing a long, black dress. “Some of them had the times of their lives on these beds.” It already sounds interesting to Zayn, so he remains silent. 

 

“Who are you?” Liam asks suspiciously, completely ruining the mood. His eyebrows are furred and his lips are pouting in the manliest way possible. 

 

“Angela, I guess you could call me that.” The old woman laughs, her eyes sparkling. “I’m surprised you don’t know about those two boys who lived in this room.” 

 

“What boys?” Zayn asks her this time, raising his eyebrows. Although this woman is creeping the shit out of him, he’s willing to listen to her story. At least he won’t have to deal with cold – hearted Payne or the ghosts of this dilapidated asylum. 

 

“Oh, it’s been too long.” Angela answers, shaking her head, trying to remember carefully. “Gosh, their names, what were their names? Oh right!” she exclaims after a while, Liam and Zayn still listening to her, “Styles, Styles was the older one, yes. The rich one as well, he came from a very wealthy family. Poor lad, how troubled was he… and then the other one, that Tomlinson boy. He was the youngest of the two of them, wasn’t he? Oh yeah, the poor lad, he hadn’t even finished school yet.” Angela stops for a moment, staring at the floor, then looking back at the two men who are standing in front of her. “I’ve never seen two people fall so hard for each other.” She says, then shoots them a smile. 

 

“Shall I tell you the whole story, boys?”


	2. 1923

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I want to kill them, Gem.” Harry spoke for the first time in days then, with such an innocent voice, quite different from his original sentence. “Wanna – wanna make them suffer, Gem, like – like they did to me.”

“I can definitely assure you, Mr. Twist, that our staff is going to do everything possible so that your son can get the best treatment.” Mr. Twist smiled, hearing the man’s words and nodding, clearly satisfied. Right next to him, stood Anne Twist with her daughter Gemma, who were looking at the younger boy with worried frowns and downcast hearts. “You’ve brought him to the right place.” The man placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder, squeezing the bone with force, just on the exact spot to make the boy squeak in pain. “Harry here is going to share his dorm with another patient, so he’s not going to stop socializing.” 

 

“Either way, it’s not that much of a problem.” Harry’s father answered, giving a short nod. 

 

The man agreed with an unfriendly smile. “Well, since everything is settled now, would you like me to show you around our institution?” when Mr. Twist nodded, the man led the Styles family outside of his office, Harry following them from behind. Soon enough, his sister Gemma was walking right next to him. 

 

“Harry, look at me love.” She said, her voice soft and trying to hide the fear and worry in it. “Harry, you’re going to be okay, I will not them hurt you, alright? They’re not going to do any – “

 

“I want to kill them, Gem.” Harry spoke for the first time in days then, with such an innocent voice, quite different from his original sentence. “Wanna – wanna make them suffer, Gem, like – like they did to me.” Gemma stared at her brother through her hazel brown eyes with a knowing look in them, for she understood and had seen what her brother had gone through all this time. Having an asocial, introvert boy as a son in a wealthy family like theirs was not a thing to brag about, especially to show him around. Harry can vividly remember having these outbursts that he couldn’t quite understand why. But what he knew was that he didn’t like them, nor the way his heart beat quickened, or the white foam that dribbled down the sides of his lips, the way his eyes rolled back and his body shook uncontrollably, and the screams, God, the screams were the worst. Whether they came from his sister or his mother, or even the ones in his head, they made his ears ring and only brought pain. “Help-p me Gemma, help me.” Harry murmured, his fingers finding his sister’s hand and clutching on it like his life was depended from her. And maybe it was. 

 

“Remember when we were younger, and father bought us this fake castle to play with?” Gemma suddenly perked up, “And-and, to protect your kings and queens and soldiers, you shall build up the walls of the castle on your own?” Harry slowly turned his head from the ground to face her. His huge, green, glassy eyes were gazing at her as he nodded, urging her to continue, ready to hear her next words. “Then build up your walls, Harry. Protect your castle from anyone who tries to get in, where you can only be the king until you find your queen.” Gemma whispered in Harry’s ear the words that would be inked inside his brain until his very last moment. “Alright Harry? Promise me you’ll do that, okay?” Harry nodded, clenching his jaw and hiding his face in his sister’s neck. “Good, good boy.” Gemma sniffled, trying to contain her tears, but watching her brother falling apart didn’t make it any better. 

 

She hoped with all her heart that nothing was going to happen to her baby brother in there; after all, Whittingham Mental Hospital was one of the most famous mental institutions, not only in Lancashire but also throughout the whole country. She just wishes their father would have handled things better than this, than just jumping into the quick and easy conclusion; sending Harry to a mental hospital was something that neither of the two siblings agreed with, and this is why Harry wasn’t taking it that well. “Harry, darling?” Gemma murmured quietly, squeezing her brother’s fingers in her palm as they were being toured around the institution campus. To anyone who had never been there, it seemed like such a lovely and different hospital than any other one in England. The main building wasn’t that big, but it was surrounded by lovely gardens that bloomed with roses and lilies every spring. Neither of the two siblings spoke until everyone arrived in front of the water tower of the campus. 

 

“This is probably the most remote place of the campus, yet it’s quite lovely, isn’t it?” and it was the first time that Harry would ever agree with the tall man for as long as he stayed in Whittingham Asylum. The place around the water tower was truly beautiful and astonishing, with shining green bushes that made the road almost invisible; a very good hiding place, and that was all Harry needed, a place to hide from everyone and everything. He had already found a plan on how to escape from there, and his shelter would be the bushes around the water tower. He was lost in his thoughts until he heard the man telling them that it was time they said goodbye to their son. 

 

A firm hand circled Harry’s heart and started clutching on it, until it felt numb, broken to the brim. He certainly didn’t want to leave his mother and sister helpless, yet again, even when he still lived in the house, did he ever help them with something? “I love you,” his mother whispered in his ear, “I love you, Harry. Be safe, okay?” her loving arms brought him into a hug, not wanting to let go, and her blue eyes were filled with tears. “Be safe, sweetheart, okay? We’ll visit you; we’ll come and see you as soon as we can. This is for your own good.” 

 

Truth to be told, Harry didn’t want to cry; when he cried, he felt small, helpless and lost, but right then, watching his mother, one of his favorite people in the world fall apart right in front of him, almost made him suffocate. “I love you as well,” Gemma said once his mother had pulled away. “You’re always going to be my little brother. And once you get out of there, we can kill them together, alright?” Harry actually smiled at that, not because of the twisted thought, but because even though the dire situation, Gemma always tried to bring a smile on his lips. 

 

“Alright lad, it’s time to go now,” the man ordered, and Harry watched his family walk away, his father not giving him a second glare. He was completely sure he was going to have another panic attack soon, but managed to contain himself. “Let’s show you your dormitory.” Then, Harry was led inside the building, which seemed even lonelier and colder than the first time he had seen it earlier that day. The doors were shut everywhere, but when he asked about it, the man told him that it was normal, since it was still pretty early in the morning. Harry didn’t believe him, of course. 

 

“Mummy, mummy!” Harry jumped when he heard a shriek coming from the end of the hallway; a small, petite boy was being dragged from his arms away from his parents, who were looking at him with contemptuous glares, “Mummy, please, don’t let them take me, mummy!” although Harry was quite an observer, he couldn’t quite see the features of the crying boy. “I love you, mummy, please!” the boy fell on his knees, and Harry just wanted to get near him and tell him that everything was going to be okay. 

 

Secretly, Harry knew nothing was going to be okay. The tall man scoffed at the broken boy and grabbed Harry from his shoulder, pushing him inside an empty room. There were only two uncomfortable beds and a closet, in which Harry’s clothes has already been placed. “Your sessions will begin from tomorrow,” the man announced, “For now, you can rest. Dinner is at eight o’ clock at night, although the nurses are going to alarm you. Your roommate should be here in an hour or so.” Soon, the man was out of Harry’s dorm, leaving him alone inside the cold room. 

 

When Harry sat on the bed, he realized it would be very hard for him to adapt to the environment; his eyes were already brimming with tears and his tongue was dry, completely drained. What were they going to do to him? Were they going to lock him up in the basement of the institution, just like his father used to do to him back at their house? Harry shivered at the mere thought of it. He didn’t count how much time passed, but soon, his dorm door was opened and a boy was pushed inside. “Enjoy your stay.” The nurse murmured sarcastically before shutting the door closed. As the boy lifted his eyes from the floor, Harry immediately recognized him; it was the boy from before, the one who was screaming in the corridor and calling his mother. However, now he can study carefully his characteristics; the blue, oceanic eyes that have tears running from them, staining his tanned cheeks. His lips are thin and raw, the color resembling the strawberries Harry used to eat whenever they went to France for the summer. 

 

“Are you alright?” Harry asked shocked, getting up from the bed and grasping the boy’s arm, who immediately flinched away, curling up in the corner of the room. “I’m not going to hurt you, I promise.” Harry reassured the boy, but not approaching him; he knew well enough from his own experience that he didn’t like people to touch him when he was upset, that he would lean into their touch when he needed it himself. Soon, the boy was walking towards Harry, crawling like a cat, until his fingers were laced between Harry’s and he was being pulled up on his feet. It was obvious that this strange boy was quite younger than Harry was. “I’m probably your roommate. Harry,” Harry extended his arm awkwardly, not bothering to smile, “Nice to meet you.” 

 

“Louis.” The younger boy answered quite afraid, his lips wobbling. It was the first time Harry had heard his voice, which sounded like angels singing from the sky, as it cracked at some points due to his fear. “P-please…” the boy stuttered. 

 

“Please don’t hurt me.”


	3. 2014

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s a matter of hierarchy, Malik.” Payne explains bluntly, “If you worked as hard as I did, you would get the privilege to be called by your first name, or ever ‘Mr. Malik’.”

“Interesting…” Liam murmurs, not at all intrigued or amused by Angela’s story, which probably has more to come. Zayn cannot really understand how boring can Mr. Payne be sometimes, how one – sided, how pessimistic. Unlike Zayn, who is always the first one to learn gossip about someone, Liam does not enjoy hearing things that are not crucially involved with the case he’s handling, with his job. Of course, his job. Liam is only interested in his job, he’s slowly drained away from it, and Zayn doesn’t quite know why he’s so worried about it – so pissed off. 

 

“You know, you could just pretend.” He hears Zayn snapping as he walks through the abandoned building, opening doors that stand in his way, and Zayn shivers at the screeching sound of the metal being dragged across the wooden floor. “Just pretend to be interested in what you’re hearing, and for God’s sake, be nice to Angela. She seems like a nice lady and she might even help us.” 

 

Liam turns around, glaring one last time at Zayn before walking away through the asylum again. “I’m not interested in learning about some troubled kid who lived here ages ago. Many troubled kids lived here, why should he be the special one? Now, are you going to cooperate and let me do my job? We’re investigating the place to see if the government can build a new hospital, and I don’t see you doing that, Malik.” 

 

Zayn remains silent, but then decides to follow him. “Why is that you always call me ‘Malik’ and I’m not allowed to call you anything else other ‘Mr. Payne’?” 

 

“It’s a matter of hierarchy, Malik.” Payne explains bluntly, “If you worked as hard as I did, you would get the privilege to be called by your first name, or ever ‘Mr. Malik’.” 

 

“It’s a matter of nonsense.” Zayn mutters silently. 

 

“I heard you.” 

 

“Glad you can still do that, old man.” The younger boy snaps, and walks away, approaching the old woman again. “Hey, Angela.” Zayn smiles warmly at her. With her, the old building doesn’t seem so creepy anymore. The weird thing is, how does she know all this stuff? “So, you’ve been living here?” 

 

Angela chuckles, “Oh no, darling, I wouldn’t dare to live here, who knows what kind of ghosts haunt this place?” at that, goose – bumps form across Zayn’s spine. He’s not one for ghosts and creepy stories, not at all. “Oh, don’t be scared, my boy. Even if there were ghosts, you haven’t done anything to them, right? Why would they hurt you?” she chuckles, holding her stomach. “Anyway, sorry for rambling. I live right across the street behind the asylum, right where the back gates of the campus are. I remember when I used to live in the campus, it was beautiful back then. Now, all the flowers have gone, everything’s sort of ruined.” 

 

“You lived here?” Zayn asks, and it feels as if he’s taking this case in his own hands. Sure, let Liam wonder around the building, searching for bobby pins, but Zayn is pretty sure he’s handling this situation way better than Liam. He decides that now that he has found Angela, it’s a very good opportunity to learn more about Whittingham Asylum. 

 

“My father was actually the founder of the hospital.” Angela grins toothlessly. “His house was originally built inside the campus, therefore the whole family lived there. I could show you around if you want, I’ve been looking after the whole area, just cleaning up a little bit here and there.” 

 

“Really?” the boy is now fully interested in Angela’s back-story, leaning forward, showing to her that he wants to learn more. “So, how was it, back then? Being the daughter of the founder, it must have been pretty convenient for you, I guess.” 

 

Angela chuckles, kind of sadly. “Well, financially, of course. I was able to go to the best private schools in town, but they never really taught me the things I learnt from the days I spent here. I was a child who got sick very easily so most of times I didn’t go to school, my father would let me sit in his office, but no wondering around. I can’t remember a day I followed his orders.” A smile stretches over Angela’s lips. 

 

“You had a good relationship with your father?” Zayn questions, and has now gotten his little notepad out, taking notes about Angela’s life. This is not the most responsible thing to do, a voice rings inside Zayn’s mind, especially now where the case is not even about the life of the people in Whittingham Asylum, it’s about the building itself. But Zayn is a sensitive guy, and he’s always been more interested in humans rather than soulless objects, in contrast with Mr. Payne, who has disappeared for probably more than half an hour now, investigating unimportant things like what color the walls used to be. 

 

“Not really, no. Being a founder meant spending more time for the Asylum rather than his family, and once my mother died when I was ten, he took my full custody, but I’m not complaining because of that. He did what he had to do, and that’s fine. But you know, there are some things that you cannot let go so easily…” 

 

“Like the fact that he didn’t sacrifice some of his time for you?” Zayn looks at Angela curiously. 

 

“Not really, I didn’t mind that so much.” Zayn wants to learn more; this old lady, Angela, seems so intriguing, but he really doesn’t want to make her feel uncomfortable, he wants to keep hearing stories about Angela’s life from so many years ago. Instead, he gives her a warm smile, and just settles in taking a stroll through the corridors, and it’s nice. It’s nice because now, he’s not that scared of the whole thing, not with Angela around. “I see you’re being productive.” He tries to control his laughter when he sees Liam sitting in an old desk that’s almost bound to fall apart in any moment. He’s reading his notes over and over again, repeating the same thing without even realizing it, and completely ignoring Zayn. “Why are you always so…”

 

“So what?” Liam asks without raising his head from his notes. There are moments in his life where Zayn gets so irritated that his head starts pounding. Ninety – nine percent of the time, Liam is the cause of his irritation, like now, for example. 

 

“So you.” Zayn snaps. “You say I’m the one who’s not cooperating and yet here you are, being an asocial twat and not even giving Angela the chance to talk to you. Do you know how many things we can learn from her? Do you know how interesting and funny and warm – hearted she is? No, of course, because you sit here from the moment we arrived here, investigating the furniture!” in the meantime, Zayn doesn’t realize that Liam has already gotten up from his seat and is quickly approaching him, until he’s pushed up against the old, dusty wall, with Liam’s right leg perched between his thighs. 

 

“Watch your mouth.” Liam hisses in his ear. “Let’s not forget about the hierarchy topic we discussed earlier. I’m your boss and you’re my assistant; you have no right to do what you want, question whom you want and investigate whatever you want. I give the orders and you follow them, not the opposite.” Liam then pulls back, rests his forehead against Zayn’s for just a mere nanosecond, before whispering in his ear: 

 

“Time to work, Mr. Malik.”


	4. 1923

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> something got messed up with the chapters, so i had to re-upload them again!
> 
> it's been so long since i posted a chapter here, which is pretty dumb since i've already finished this story but i kind of just forgot about it :/ 
> 
> i'm going to post a couple of chapters today, though! 
> 
> remember that you can find this story on wattpad as well :) 
> 
> feedback is always appreciated :3 xx

“Food is tasty.” Harry commented almost inaudibly as he sat on the old bed that he now called home, with a small bowl of chicken soup perched on his lap. He watched as the younger boy that he shared his room with ate the piece of bread the nurses practically threw at him that evening. He was munching on it slowly, and his lips trembled, and his stomach roared, but he knew he shouldn’t eat all of it, because that it would be the only food he would get for the rest of the day, so he had decided to eat it wisely. Small amounts of it each time. 

 

Harry was lying, of course; he had never tasted something more dull and smelly and disgusting ever in his life. Living in such a big house meant that he would always have a plate of delicious cooked food in front of him whenever he asked for it. But Harry was a polite child, a humble and a modest one, so he never expressed his ungratefulness for as long as he stayed in Whittingham Asylum. However, Harry was snapped out of his thoughts when he heard the younger boy’s stomach rumbling loud enough to be heard from the nurses at the end of the corridor. The poor lad; for the last week he had been living in the institution, they had not been letting him eat his meals with the other patients in the dining room, instead they forced him to be content with eating burned bread once a day in his room. When Harry asked if he could have his meals served in his room as well, the nurses did not protest at all, and that confused him. 

 

They hadn’t talked; at all. The first nights were the most difficult ones, in Harry’s opinion; they were the ones where he would constantly think of his sister and his mother, and the fact that he had practically abandoned them to the mercy of that monster he was forced to call his father. His long fingers would clutch on the cold sheets that were hard against his bare skin, and his teeth would bite into his plump, red lips until they were just a second from bringing blood into the surface. Sometimes he would; just to taste the metallic liquid pouring from his lips and on his tongue, and it might have been the only alive part of his body that was still working normally. Since he entered the Asylum, a part of him had died inside. The part of him that helped him think of happy things to hope for, the part of him that lightened up whenever his sister managed to bring him around again after his panic attacks. And it was only the first week. 

 

“D-do, do you…” Harry hesitantly asked, trying to get up from his bed to reach the boy from across the room, who was curled up in the corner, his knees right under his chin and the burned bread inside his palm. “D’you wan-nt some?” he asked again, reluctantly getting up, yet something was pulling him back down again. He ignored it, and proceeded to approach the younger boy. Taking small, quiet, clumsy steps, almost like a baby, Harry finally kneeled in front of the boy, and carefully offered him the bowl of hot chicken soup in front of him. Suddenly, the boy flinched and raised his hands up, covering himself and shutting his eyes closed, as if Harry was going to attack him. That confused the older boy more. “Food.” Harry explained briefly, “I, d’you want some?” he repeated, and the boy didn’t answer, he spoke again. “I, I d-don’t-t want anymore-re, you can take it.” He placed the bowl on the floor and took some steps back, leaving some room. 

 

The other boy finally stopped covering himself and extended his arm to reach for the bowl, flinching a couple of times, but in the end, he took it in his hands, hugging it close to his chest, took the spoon and began eating. And Harry had never felt more satisfied ever in his life; not even when he first succeeded in reciting his very first poem by heart. He felt satisfied, seeing a broken boy recovering with just a simple thing as a bowl of soup, just like he recovered whenever his sister hugged him and brushed his hair off his forehead. He watched the younger boy as he ate up the rest of his meal, and once he finished it, he placed it carefully in front of him, holding his small hand in front of his tummy and for the first time, he managed to look Harry straight into his eyes. And Harry finally got to saw them; those blue, cerulean eyes staring right at him, not saying anything because his eyes could speak for him. 

 

“H-harry.” Harry spoke then, “I’m Harry. W-what’s your name?” he asked, waiting patiently for the answer. He did not like it when other people asked him, he always talked slowly and he hated it whenever his father smacked his cheek if he took long to answer a question. So that’s why he waited without talking, letting the boy have his space. 

 

“L-louis.” The boy replied after a while, fingers insecurely clutching on his shirt, “I’m, I’m Louis. Thank you.” His voice was now soft and sweet and delicate, just like himself. Harry thought that he should not be having these kinds of thoughts, yet they always seemed to come back in his mind; the way Louis looked always so broken and ready to fall apart, and they didn’t even know each other, and Harry had only been there for a week, for Christ’s sake, and the happiness Harry felt when he pulled Louis back together was incredible. “Why are you here?” 

 

Harry’s eyebrows arched back, considering the fact that he was quite surprised that Louis asked him a question when he wasn’t even talking to him. On the other hand, he didn’t even know what to answer; he didn’t even know why he was put in the Whittingham Asylum in the first place. Was it because he was so abnormal that his whole family was embarrassed of him and did not wish for him to be anywhere else than this institution? “I, I don’t know.” He finally answered. “You?” 

 

Louis’ eyes opened wide, “I – I can’t tell you.” Louis said. “I can’t, I can’t, I’m sorry, I can’t!” the boy started mumbling quickly, kicking the empty bowl with his bare foot and knocking it over under the table, making it break into a million little pieces. “Sorry, sorry, I’m, sorry!” and suddenly, just like that, tears started falling from his oceanic eyes. 

 

“Louis, Louis, it’s fine!” Harry protested quietly, grasping the younger boy’s arms, shaking him gently and trying to calm him down. “It’s fine, it’s fine. You don’t have to tell me. If you don’t want to.” Louis gulped down, trying to calm his breaths as he shook and trembled beneath Harry’s touch. 

 

“I like boys.” Louis whispered embarrassingly.


	5. 2014

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zayn’s breath hitches. “Partners. Work Partners, nothing else.”

“I’ll see you later, Mr. Malik.” Liam murmurs one last time before letting go of the younger man and exiting the room. He leaves Zayn inside the dilapidated room, breathless and flushed; and Zayn is pretty sure he has never met a more complicated person in his life. Everything happened so fast; one moment, Liam had pushed him against the wall, then the other he was gone, just like the wind. Zayn rubs his temple in order to clear all those vivid memories from only moments ago. 

 

“Mr. Malik?” Zayn almost has a heart attack when he hears someone calling him by that name. Then, he sighs in relief when he sees Angela standing next to the door. “I’m sorry if I’m interrupting you from anything, I just found something that you would maybe find interesting.” 

 

Zayn smiles at her, a warm feeling in the pit of his stomach. “Of course, Angela, what did you find?” 

 

“You’ll see if you follow me.” Angela tells him happily. She approaches him and extends her arm, lifting Zayn from the ground. “Is Mr. Payne going to join us? I figured I shouldn’t interrupt him from his investigation, plus he’s not too keen on meeting new people.” She chuckles, “But I guess you’re going to be better at talking to him. He listens to you.” 

 

The boy looks at her in disbelief, but remains silent. It’s better not to talk about Liam now, Zayn is already feeling embarrassed but the fact that he has no intention to be polite and just a little bit social with this nice little lady. And if Angela couldn’t make him act better, neither can he. “If you don’t mind me asking, what kind of relationship do you have with each other?” and Zayn almost chokes on his own breath. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

 

Zayn’s breath hitches. “Partners. Work Partners, nothing else.” 

 

“Is that what you actually are? Or are you just saying that to convince yourself?”

 

“Huh?” Zayn asks surprised, and is only met with a chuckling Angela. 

 

“Oh, come on, Zayn. Throughout my life, I’ve met tons of people like you, and I’m not saying that as a bad thing. It’s just that you people are never going to admit something so simple as that. Just like my father; he never wanted to admit he loved my mother and that he wasn’t happy with the institution. And what did he do instead? Turn his rage towards the poor patients, and we can all see how that turned out?” she points at the building that surrounds them. “If Mr. Payne agrees then it’s fine. I’ll be waiting in the front gate.” And with that, she’s gone. 

 

It’s not simple; it’s not fucking simple and Zayn knows that very well. Hell, if it were simple, he wouldn’t be here right now. He would be resting in his house, watching TV with Niall and not caring about anything, not applying for this stupid job just because of that stupid reason. It’s been more than two years now and Zayn has already humiliated himself in front of everyone more than a thousand times, yet he still is here, waiting for the day that everything will change…that that one person will change and start looking at him in a different way. 

 

“Bored already?” Liam suddenly appears from the end of the hallway, slowly approaching him, “At least do something that you’re able to, like not stand in my way when I’m doing my job.” He says once he has stood in front of the younger boy, as if Zayn’s not letting him walk further on. It’s just ridiculous. 

 

“Angela wants to show us something…” Zayn says, ignoring Liam’s bitter comments, “So, are you going to come or just be a pain in the ass and wander around this ghost town, trying to investigate something irrelevant?” 

 

“You know what, I was actually thinking about joining you two, but now that I’ve seen what kind of attitude you hold against me, I really don’t think I enjoy your company. Never did anyways, but sometimes, we need to do things that we’re not okay with. So yeah, not going to join you and the corpse in your little adventure, Mr. Malik.” And with that, Liam leaves him alone, pushing his shoulder harshly as he walks away, until Zayn can’t see him anymore because of the tears in his eyes. 

 

It’s not the first time Liam has made Zayn cry; when Zayn was first hired to this job, luckily, they assigned him with Liam. And whenever Zayn did something wrong, Liam would shout at him and tell him that if he wanted to continue there, he had to be a perfectionist in the quickest possible way, otherwise he would be fired on the spot. Surprisingly, Zayn can recall a hundred times he did something wrong and was never fired for it. 

 

And he should have been used to Liam’s shouts by now; he’s been working with him for over two years and it’s always been like this. Yet every time something like that happens, Zayn is always in tears, not because he’s sad, but because he’s frustrated. Frustrated because of the fact that even though he does try, Liam never acknowledges that. He never praises him or appreciates all the errands Zayn runs for him every single day. Frustrated because Liam does not realize that life is simple, and that he could be more open instead of closing his thoughts to himself, because Zayn would be more than happy to help him out with any problem he might have. Frustrated because Liam always thinks he’s the right one, and that he never gives Zayn’s ideas a second thought. And the most frustrating thing is that everything Zayn wants has to be given by Liam. Even when Liam is not going to give anything at all. 

 

Zayn finally wipes his eyes from the tears after a couple of minutes, deciding that the best thing to do is meet up with Angela in the front gates. So he starts walking towards there, and, somehow, the bizarre atmosphere brings thoughts into his mind. What if Liam Payne was a completely different person? What if he wasn’t so closeted, what if he actually wanted to create a friendship between him Zayn? And Zayn wouldn’t mind, he wouldn’t mind at all. The thing that pains him the most is knowing that he cannot have Liam at all, but even if he had him in the smaller way, that would be enough for him. Would have the tables turned into a completely different way than now? 

 

“Ah, you finally came!” Angela exclaims. Zayn can’t really understand how this woman is more alive than him, even if she’s just flirting with her deathbed. “Excellent. The reason I told you to come here is because I remembered the old Water Tower of the institution. It’s magical up there. Very remote from the vicinity of the building, but still in the campus. I haven’t been there for a while and the flowers must have grown incredibly. So, should we check it out?” 

 

“Sure.” Zayn agrees, his voice numb. 

 

“Well, I certainly hope you’re not going to forget me.”


	6. 1923

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More confused than ever, Harry got up from the bed, ignoring the dizziness that his actions brought, and kneeled down in front of Louis, who had covered his body with his hands, “I’m sorry!” he shouted desperately, “P-please, don’t hit me. I’m sorry, I didn’t know – “

“I like boys.”

 

Harry knows those words should have startled him; that they should have disgusted him and made him feel pure hatred and fear towards the small, fragile boy. But that was exactly it; Louis was so small and petite and porcelain – like, as if he was going in any minute into small pieces of glass that would never be able to fit back together.

 

He knows he should have understood that this is why they had brought him to Whittingham Asylum; for it was strictly forbidden for a man to like other men as it was for a woman to express her opinion; something unimaginable, completely out of the ordinary. Unnatural. Yet again, it seemed unfair. Louis probably hadn’t done anything wrong, so his parents might have discovered it at the wrong time. But, and that was for sure, Harry believed that Louis did not quite belong there, in this hospital for the mentally unstable. And Harry was also sure that Louis did not have a single problem, like he himself had. 

 

That particular night ended quickly, with neither of them saying anything, and when the next morning came, Harry’s first session came as well. A nurse, not too young but not too old, led him inside a bright corridor that blinded and hurt his eyesight whenever his gaze lingered too long at them. The silence was terrible; he could even hear his own heartbeat echoing in his head, torturing him in such a simple, monotonous way. She told Harry to sit on a small, uncomfortable chair, and that the doctor would join him soon. 

 

“So, Harry Styles, do you know why you’re here today with us?” the female doctor asked him, holding her pen against her chin. Her eyes had this captivating, black color that managed to create a lump in Harry’s throat whenever he thought he was ready to talk. 

 

“I don’t – don’t really know why.” He answered, his thumbs twiddling with each other. “Why am I here?” he decided to reverse the question bravely. 

 

“Nosy thing, aren’t you?” the doctor said, hints of irritation in her voice. “You are here to be normal again, my son. Now, cooperate a little, will you?” then, she proceeded to ask him a whole lot of questions that Harry was sure had nothing with his condition, but he answered them nevertheless. At some point, the woman told Harry that their session was over and the next one was exactly in two days. 

 

Harry nodded silently and exited the room, walking towards his dorm. He spent most of his time there, sleeping or looking up to the ceiling, thinking of his sister and his mum and sometimes his father. Were they missing him as much as he did? Was his sister crying in her sleep like he did the first night he spent in the Asylum? How was their life without him? 

 

It hurt him to think that his family might have been having a blast, and there he was, doing nothing, remaining motionless. His father always shouted at him for doing absolutely nothing; for the fact that he always preferred books to work, for the fact that he wanted to be a teacher instead of a lawyer, instead of continuing the family business. But Harry knew he could never possibly be a lawyer; for whenever he spoke to people, his tongue was always tied, and whenever his father invited his friends, he would always end up in his room, his mind foggy and his breath uneven. And somehow, Gemma would always be there to wipe his mouth and stroke his hair and tell him that nothing was wrong, that he wasn’t wrong. He didn’t want to remain useless in this institution, he already felt useless in his home, and now that this hospital would be his home for quite a while, he might as well become more productive. 

 

He carefully pushed the sheets away and crawled out of his bed, hearing the creaking and squeaking noises it made. It was still daytime, so he was allowed to walk through the corridors, although the sky was grey and it was starting to rain. As he passed in front of the rooms, he occasionally squinted his eyes in order to see what was happening inside. After walking for a couple of minutes, he came across a large staircase that led downstairs, into a hallway where the lights were dimmed and it smelled like rotten fish. Several patients were walking up and down, however, when Harry took a better look at them, he wasn’t sure if they were living human beings. They wandered around, eyes foggy, almost white, in such a steady rhythm, as if they were machines. Harry could feel their eyes on him; their piercing glares that burnt holes on his body, making even more vulnerable as time passed. He wanted to leave; he wanted to run back to his dorm and shut the door closed and close his eyes are never go back again. As if his hands and feet were tied together, he remained motionless, only backing away towards the walls. 

 

Harry brought a hand on his chest, squeezing it; his clothes were clinging on him, attached on his skin as if they were eating him alive. The people moved closer. Harry felt like he was chocking on his own breath, his heart thumping and thumping and thumping as if it would jump out of his chest. He collapsed against the wall; sweat running down his forehead, his mouth getting wet and saliva dripping out of the corners of his mouth. He wanted to cry; he wanted to cry until his eyes dried out, until his sister was there with him. Harry closed his eyes and let those tears spill, his breath getting caught at the back of his throat. 

 

He finally woke up three hours later, lying on his dorm bed, which seemed comfier and warmer, for some reason. As he slowly opened his eyes, he was suddenly met with those familiar, oceanic eyes that belonged to no one else other than his young roommate, Louis. The boy was sitting on his bed, with either of his knees on Harry’s side, looking at him curiously – Harry was quite surprised to see Louis being so straight – forward, when he had backed away a couple of days ago. Anyway, Louis was practically sitting on top of Harry, looking at him with his huge, blue eyes that were filled with curiosity. “God…” Harry groaned, tilting his head to the side; it hurt, it hurt so much. His head was heavy and pounding in coordination with his heart, only much louder and much worse. “Louis?” he asked, fully opening his eyes. 

 

The boy shuffled on the sheets, still looking at him. However, unlike the people downstairs, Louis’ stare was not at all scary or causing him panic attacks. It soothed him. “I – I’m so sorry.” Louis mumbled, biting his lower lip, thinking that Harry had gotten mad at him. “Y-you were shaking, on the floor, and – and I b-brought you h-here after you passed out.” Once he explained, Louis jumped from the bed and crawled on his knees to the corner of the room, far away from Harry. 

 

More confused than ever, Harry got up from the bed, ignoring the dizziness that his actions brought, and kneeled down in front of Louis, who had covered his body with his hands, “I’m sorry!” he shouted desperately, “P-please, don’t hit me. I’m sorry, I didn’t know – “

 

“Louis.” Harry spoke in a soft, stern voice. “Why did you do it?” 

 

Louis bit on his lip, looking down at his lap before finding the courage to answer Harry’s question. 

 

“You have pretty eyes.”


	7. 2014

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Well isn’t that what you’re doing? Toying with me, I mean.” Zayn says angrily.

The olive – skinned boy whips his head around and looks at Liam in surprise, for he never expected him to join them. The older man has this cocky smirk on his full pouty lips, it makes him look sinful, it turns Zayn’s skin color white, draining all the tan from him. “Ah, Mr. Payne! Follow me this way…” so the both of them start walking behind the sweet old lady. There is an awkward and silent atmosphere filling the space between that Zayn should have gotten used to by now, but the problem is he hasn’t. 

 

“Come on, Zayn, let’s get going.” Liam urges him to walk. And just, no. Zayn can’t let him do this – his name sounds too good with Liam’s thick voice that makes it flow so easily. It’s a fact: Liam can speak easily, dominantly and looking superior to anyone that might be around him. Zayn, on the contrary, can’t even probably speak around him, let alone give orders. But anyway, the point is that he can’t let Liam to call him by his first name, or he’ll not be able to control himself. And he has to. Pretty bad. 

 

“Please don’t call me by my first name,” Zayn murmurs, his eyes fixed on his feet as they keep walking, “Just, call me Malik or Mr. Malik or anything else but my name.” 

 

“Really?” Liam muses. He sounds like he’s laughing, “From what I remember a couple of hours ago, you had a problem with me calling you ‘Malik’. It made you feel inferior to me, not that you’re not. But.” 

 

“Things change, Mr. Payne.” Zayn snaps, a bit harshly. He honestly doesn’t have time for Liam’s quizzes and questions that make his heart pound. “And since I’ve changed my mind, I was hoping that you would respect that. Since I already respect you.” 

 

Liam lets out a throaty chuckle. “You are really something else, aren’t you, Malik?” well, that’s better. “How come you believe you’re respecting me when you’re acting the way you are – sitting there, pretending to be sad, looking like a helpless baby ready to be taken care of, wearing those fucking jeans that are tight around your ass and this suit that only makes me want to rip it off of you.” Liam’s lips are now ghosting over Zayn’s neck, creating goose bumps on his skin. “I don’t call that respect.” And with that, he walks quickly so that he’s right next to Angela, extending his arm and shaking hers, probably trying to make a fresh start. 

 

The feeling of Liam’s full lips against his neck still lingers on his skin, and Zayn’s heartbeat hasn’t stopped pounding until they finally arrive on the other side of the campus, right in front of the Water Tower. Then, Angela begins explaining how the pipes were connected from here with underground routes in order to satisfy the institution’s needs, but Zayn hears none of it, for the first time today. There is a whole lot of different thoughts travelling through his mind and haunting him way more than this abandoned institution is. 

 

Zayn’s always had those kind of ‘images’ that run through his head from time to time. And as he grew, these images grew as well, maturing with him, but remaining just dreams. Like how Liam’s body would feel on top of his, how he would probably bury his face in his neck and let out breathless moans of Zayn’s name that would sound like dripping honey. Or how his co – 

 

“Mr. Malik, are you alright?” Angela asks him, “Are you not feeling well? We can go back inside if you want, I know up here the air is not actually suitable – “

 

“No, I – I’m fine.” Zayn replies, and then locks his eyes with Liam’s, who has been staring at him all this time. His eyebrows are furrowed, a sign that he’s thinking. Sometimes Zayn would like to get in Liam’s mind and just see what he has been thinking about him all this time. 

 

“Are you sure?” Liam asks him, “I have some water in the car if you want me to get it for you.” 

 

Alright, first of all; when did Liam start caring about what Zayn needed and what he didn’t need? Why did he act so distant and then so caring, from time to time? Why would he himself run to the car, which was on the other side of the campus to get a bottle of fucking water when he previously was whispering in Zayn’s ear about how his ass looks in his jeans. “No, I’m alright, thanks Angela.” If Liam can tease, then so can Zayn, who smiles at the old lady and completely ignores Liam. “I’m sorry for interrupting you, please, continue…” 

 

And so it goes like that; Angela keeps talking about the Water Town, then moves on to the flowers that have recently grown in the area, how one time the institution almost flooded, and Zayn listens, he truly listens this time, ignoring the way Liam’s honey eyes are pierced on him. “My, my, it’s getting dark, I can’t believe how time passed so quickly,” Angela says, “We can stay here for a while if you want, I’m not going to sleep yet, far from it, actually.” Angela giggles and winks at them. 

 

“It was a pleasure to be here, Mrs. Angela.” Liam murmurs, “We are definitely going to come back tomorrow morning, we haven’t finished our investigations yet.”

 

“You were more than helpful, love.” Zayn adds with a smile.

 

“Right.” Liam says and grabs Zayn by his arm, dragging him through the institution and soon they find themselves inside Liam’s car, Zayn sitting next to the driver’s seat with his folder on his lap. “Here,” Liam says, giving him the water bottle, “Drink half of it, c’mon.”

 

“But I’m not thirsty.” Zayn says but opens the bottle anyway, taking small sips every time. 

 

“Well, you’re drinking it already.” Liam arches his eyebrows and starts driving. The drive is quiet and long, until Zayn reaches and switches on the radio, and the station plays a soft, indie song that Zayn will have to search up later, although he likes it all. At least there’s no silence anymore. 

 

“Why did you act so kindly towards Angela before?” Zayn suddenly asks, “You were so bitter at the beginning and now you are like friends. What happened?”

 

“Zayn.” Liam says, getting his cigarettes out when the red light turns on, lighting one and exhaling the smoke outside of the car, from the window. “I have this theory that many people have used before, but I find it effective. You see, you make people think you agree with them and once they believe that, you’re able to twist and turn that just how you like it.”

 

Zayn gulps. “And why are you telling me that? From what I figure, you’re not supposed to.”

 

“You’re smart, Zayn. It would be a shame to just toy around with you, so I’m not doing it because I want you to believe that I agree with you. I’m doing it so you’ll stop getting on my nerves about it. Figured I could start from the simple things and then move on.” 

 

“Well isn’t that what you’re doing? Toying with me, I mean.” Zayn says angrily. 

 

“If I was toying with you, I would have already found a new game. And I tend to appreciate things that get given to me, Mr. Malik.”


End file.
